


Hortolanus

by Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, But not in the fun way, Crack, M/M, Object Insertion, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, basically a very obscure joke, none of this is really in the fun way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep/pseuds/Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ortolan, again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hortolanus

**Author's Note:**

> You probably don't want to read this. 
> 
> (The Glee fandom has [ a certain infamous fic involving a bird](http://kurt-blaine.livejournal.com/1298095.html). Obviously, Hannibal needs its own version.) 
> 
> Spoilery warnings in the end notes.

“Are you providing the meat this time, Will?” pants Hannibal. His breath makes brief clouds on the flat of the little knife, still laid between his tensed forearms on the cutting board he is bent over. 

Will pushes his spit-damp fingers in extra hard at that. Hannibal’s body writhes, clenches around him. Odd friction of skin and muscle used in ways evolution did not plan for. He lifts his free hand from Hannibal’s neck. Will knows he’ll stay. 

He lifts the light body of the bird. Hollow bones. Blinded to create a false night, the drive to gorge freely in the darkness. The corpse has just reached the point where its living heat has fully fled into the atmosphere. He bends the tiny joints a bit. Hannibal is still squirming. Will sighs, shoves the bird into a little bag, its needle beak making a run in the plastic. 

A great groan is wrenched out of Hannibal as Will rocks the head of the bird in. Backwards to how it should enter the mouth. Hannibal’s muscles flutter around the skull, and Will wonders for a moment if they can contract in enough force to splinter the bones, pop the organs and make Armagnac spill out of his ass. The bones hold though, and Will screws the rest of the body inside. The curled feet still stick out, alongside a trickle of blood. Will smacks his ass and watches them dance. 

“Continue, then,” Will says, pulling Hannibal’s pants back up. His shirttails still flutter free. Hannibal continues. Will watches his hands open a wooden box, tiny speckled shells nestled within. 

“If eating ortolan requires hiding one’s face from God, I would think that consuming its eggs requires an even greater disguise. Perhaps we ought to be blinded too, hide from ourselves.” Hannibal’s breath comes short between his words. The construct of feathers and bone stretching him open inside. 

Will snorts. “We’ve tried hiding from each other.” 

“It was your choice,” Hannibal notes. He moves gingerly between his instruments where he is usually inhumanly graceful, and it is this forced resemblance to tenderness in his motion that makes desire twitch through Will. Hannibal is not hard. The foreign body inside him must press sharp in unfamiliar places. If shattered, it could shred up his insides, make blood drip out of him. Will swallows. 

Hannibal nods at the eggs. “Fertilized duck egg is known as _balut_ , or _hột vịt lộn_ in Vietnam. The embryo cooks to tenderness in the rich broth the natural fluids of the egg become.” He lets the little ortolan eggs sink into his pot. 

“You’re making me chicken soup inside a shell,” Will mutters flatly.

“Yes,” Hannibal smiles. His face is open and fond as he looks over his shoulder at Will, but his eyes are dark and glassy. Perhaps his guts are already being scraped raw. Perhaps it excites Will to know he is marked in this way. 

Seemingly as soon as they were dropped in, the eggs are taken out. In the next breath, Will pins Hannibal to a cabinet and shoves his pants down. 

He spreads Hannibal wide open, catching his thumb on the rim. The bird is partly crushed after all. Brandy and blood bead on their respective sides of the plastic barrier. Will pokes it to feel it squelch, and Hannibal grunts. The bird has migrated so deeply inside somehow that Will feels the urge to press it further. He admires it a second longer, and then pulls down his own pants to fuck into Hannibal.

The crumpled body scrapes unevenly in as Will thrusts. Hannibal squirms away at the primally strange feeling of something touching that deeply inside him. Will’s arm drawn across his chest keeps him there, gasping wet little sobs. With his other hand, he presses his fingers inside Hannibal’s mouth, pliant where the rest of him is tensed. Lion-taming trick. 

Will comes buried inside Hannibal, no doubt staining the feathers of the songbird compacted somewhere in there between his dick and the long emptiness of Hannibal’s gut. 

He is streaked with blood and come and brandy when he pulls out. Hannibal drops down to lap at it, and Will hisses, reaches for one of the delicate embryonic eggs on the counter.  
\---  
Three days later, Hannibal spins Will across a marble floor graven with a skull. He hums, sweetly and not at all to the music that floats around them, and pulls Will in for a kiss.

Hannibal’s throat spasms, and there inside the momentary join of their lips sits a crushed bird. 

It shakes dampness off its feathers and flies away.

**Author's Note:**

> [Warnings for animal harm, animal death, unsafe object insertion, blood, imagined gore, basically the implication that Will sticks a dead bird into Hannibal's ass and fucks it backwards through his digestive tract.]
> 
> I...definitely considered using something else for the bird, but shoving an entire stag up Hannibal's ass seems a bit TOO silly. I also definitely considered titling this "Murderer Turducken." Because it is.


End file.
